Love is Real (-ly Complicated)
by OneClassyLady
Summary: THE BEATLES The journey and trials of love focused on the thoughts of John Lennon and a girl by the name of Annabel. Starting in Liverpool, England in the late 1950s. *not across the universe*
1. Chapter 1: Annabel

ANNABEL

You know that moment… Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. That moment— you see _him_.

It seems as if all the light in the universe is shining on him, the sounds of nature are singing "hallelujah," and when your eyes lock he steals your very breath away as if to say,

"You're mine now."

Well, I guess I'm still waiting for that moment. I'm pretty sure it hasn't happened. Sure, I've dated before and I even can say that I've been in love, but I guess I haven't found _him._

Anyway… I'm an aspiring artist. Currently, I'm enrolled in art college studying traditional art, focusing on drawing. I love drawing humans; humans are just so beautiful in every aspect to me. I especially love drawing portraits, all the expression and emotion held in such a small space. I take my studies very seriously; art is my life, so I put all my time and energy into it.

Classes were going well, my professor's great, I get along with my classmates, but then, a week into classes, _he_ came.

Now, just to get things clear, I'm not talking about _**him**__-him,_ the one with the sun and the "hallelujahs." No, I'm talking about the man whose purpose in life seems to be to complicate mine.

He comes into class, very late, dressed most unprofessionally. He's wearing tight black pants, a leather jacket, and his hair is a mess, coiffed up haphazardly on his head. He didn't have a thing with him, not a notebook, sketchbook, or pencil. I was at a loss to what he was doing at this institution, and honestly, I didn't have any notion to get to know him or be near him in any way. But of course, the only seat open happens to be right next to me. So, I guess I had no choice.

The professor was giving a lecture on proportions, or something, but I don't quite remember because this unkempt "teddy-boy" decided to start up a conversation in the middle of class. Oh, I tried- _I tried_- so hard to ignore him and pay attention to my notes, but he wouldn't have that.

"Man, this is a fuckin' drag."

"I mean, aren't we supposed to be doing art in _art_ school, not listening' to some fuddy-duddy drone on about nonsense."

...

"Well, come on then, what do you think?"

...

I was putting all my effort into trying to keep my attention on my notes and not on him.

"Hmm, I guess you're one of _those_ artists then…"

"Or should I say, not a real artist at all."

Now I had to stick up for myself. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're one of those 'artists' who just follows all the rules and doesn't have a single creative, expressive bone in their body."

"Now where do you get off! You don't know a thing about me, and I highly doubt any knowledge that you have of art!"

"Ho ho, the lady speaks, and I take it she's a bit upset."

"Well, you just insulted my very life and studies, of course!"

"_Your very life_, ha! You're sittin' tall, all prim and proper, dressed impeccably, diligently taking notes to worthless lectures. You probably just paint unimaginative, pretty flower pictures for your mum."

I. was. fuming.

Thankfully class was over, and I just stood up and walked out of there, holding my anger inside.

Then he comes running up to me, "Oh, come on, you can't let a few words get ya. You gotta fight for yourself, Annabel, don't back—"

I whipped around, "How do you know my name!?"

"It's on your bag, sweetheart. Now, you say I don't know a thing about you, well, enlighten me."

"You listen here, Mister—"

"Lennon. John Lennon."

"You listen to me, Mister Lennon, I don't have to explain myself to you, nor do I want to know a _single_ thing about you. I am an artist in every right and your words mean nothing to me." With that I swung around, slapping him in the face with my hair, and stormed off in the direction of home.

I sincerely hoped that was the last interaction I would have with the infuriating John Lennon.


	2. Chapter 2: John

JOHN

You know that moment when you see some pretty bird, and you know you've fallen like some immature 5 year old. You know…when a kid likes a girl and he does whatever he can to get her attention: poking her, pulling her hair, calling her names. You see that one girl and you can't help yourself; you're smitten.

That happened the instant I walked into that art class, forty-five minutes late. My eyes were drawn to her by some unknown force and she seemed to glow. Man, was she fit! And her hair…it looked so smooth, a rich black, tumbling over her shoulder. I just wanted to run my fingers through it. I bet it smelled delicious...

I'm in a band. Not to brag, but we're gonna be famous someday. We're gonna be the next Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Buddy Holly. Right now, we're just playing at a local club, but we got a decent sized fan base here in Liverpool. We even got a guy looking to manage us. Any day, I feel like we could break out into stardom.

Anyway, back to this girl. I didn't even check to see if there were any other open seats in the room; I just went right up to the one next to her. She was concentrating on the lecture and taking notes, so I got to get a good look at her.

I thought she was pretty from far away…up close, she was flawless.

Suddenly, I needed to hear her voice. I had to know what she sounded like. I started with some comments, real general-like, about the lecture and the class hoping to get her to talk.

She was ignoring me.

Then my immature child came out of me, searching for her attention.

"I guess you're one of those artists then… not a real artist at all."

"Excuse me?"

She spoke! It was only a taste though. Without a thought to what I was actually saying, I continued. My thought process being if I make her angry she'll have to talk to me, argue with me…

"Now where do you get off! You don't know a thing about me, and I highly doubt any knowledge that you have of art!"

...well, it worked...

Oh, but her voice! So passionate, sweet and smooth, like caramel with a kick of cinnamon. I'm not too proud of the insensitive jerk I was coming off as, but I couldn't just stop now and say, "I'm only kidding! I was just insulting you to hear your angelic voice that yet holds nothing to your beautiful face."

I was waiting for her next remark, for her next glance at me with those piercing, violet eyes. Instead, she just got up and stomped away. It was then that I realized that I _miiigght_—have taking my provocation a little too far.

I raced after her, hoping to reconcile a bit, gain some good ground in this pursuit. I searched the hallway of exiting students for her.

-–There she was, walking with an air of confidence, her hips swaying and her hair swinging violently. I could tell she was filled with such fiery anger and passion, and that I had caused it. ...I kinda liked it.

I got closer to her, and saw on her book bag "Annabel" stitched into the strap. Annabel. Annabel. _Annabel._ So delicate. So beautiful.

I caught up to her, "Oh, come on, you can't let a few words get ya. You gotta fight for yourself, Annabel, don't back—"

She whipped around, "How do you know my name!?"

I hadn't even realized I had said it; it was so natural coming out of my mouth. I gave her a smirk, amused by her incredulous face and replied calmly, "It's on your bag, sweetheart. Now, you say I don't know a thing about you, well, enlighten me."

"You listen here mister- "

I interrupted her to tell my own name. Then she came inches away from my face, making herself as tall as she could and glared up at me.

"You listen to me Mister Lennon… … …"

I barely heard what she said. I was entranced by the fury in her eyes. I couldn't think straight with her face so close to mine. I could just lean in and capture her trembling lips and kiss her until her anger vanished; until her tense body melted in my arms.

I was seconds away from acting upon my thoughts, when she decided she was done with me.

I stared after her as she stormed off, with a hand to my cheek.

Vanilla.

That's what her hair smelled like as it whipped me in the face.


	3. Chapter 3: Annabel

ANNABEL

I reached my little house in record time, my anger charging my steps. The door slammed loudly behind me as I stormed into my room. I grabbed my sketchbook, sat on my bed, and started sketching. Hoping to calm myself down.

_Who does he think he is!_

_I AM an artist! I AM creative! I AM imaginative!_

_I DO NOT paint silly FLOWERS!_

I closed my eyes, tears burning beneath my lids. I willed myself to take deep breaths.

My anger slowly diminished with each inhale and prolonged exhale.

_His words mean nothing..._

_He means nothing..._

When I finally felt myself regain control, I opened my eyes and looked down at my sketch.

... ... ... ... ...

In my furious state I had drawn a portrait. Now, that isn't out of the ordinary... almost all of my sketches are portraits. But what unnerved me about this one is that I had drawn the face of the man that I was fuming about.

_Why! Urrrgg..._

I grabbed the corner to rip it out, when I paused to actually look at it. His face wasn't that hard to look at when insults weren't spewing out of his mouth. I ripped it out nonetheless, crumpled it up, and tossed it on the floor.

I fell back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. _I just won't let him get to me..._

* * *

I got up the next morning... late. I quickly threw on something, anything, and brushed my hair out. I grabbed my bag from my bedroom floor and rushed out the door.

As I reached the school building, who should I see but John, leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. I tried to get past him unseen, but I was not so lucky.

"Annabel!" He put out his cigarette and started after me.

I kept walking.

"Hey! Annabel, slow down." He placed a hand on my shoulder, which I promptly shrugged off.

He stepped in front of me, "I was hoping that we could move on from yesterday and start over..."

_Really!? REALLY! Did he really think that he could just take back all those insults that kept me up last night questioning myself!?_

I was not in the mood for this.

"Fuck off, Lennon," I replied coolly. I shoved past him and into the building. I was not going to be late because of him.

He caught up to me and followed closely behind.

"Look, I know that what I said was undeserved, and... I just want to apologize." He sounded sincere, but I didn't feel like talking. I reached the classroom, took my seat, and he sat down next to me.

It was another lecture day. We got there just on time as the professor started her presentation.

John leaned over to me and whispered, "C'mon, you can't be that upset-"

"Don't talk to me during class," I curtly cut him off.

I guess he got the hint because he didn't talk to me for the rest of the lecture. _How courteous._

Class ended and he still hadn't uttered a word. I put my things back into my bag and got up to leave when John reached out and touched my wrist, lingering there. I turned and looked at him; his face was like that of a lonely child.

"I have a feeling that I've hurt you..." He spoke softly. I couldn't deal with him now... I turned around, yanked my bag onto my shoulder, and walked away.

To my surprise he didn't follow me...


	4. Chapter 4: John

JOHN

I walked down the street in a sort of daze. I was heading to Paul's house, our bassist, for rehearsal with not a chord, lyric, or tune in my head. My mind was filled with thoughts of Annabel... her face, her hair, her voice...

I reached Paul's house and found Paul and George, our lead guitarist, already there talking about various things. Our drummer, Pete, wasn't there yet; I had a feeling he wouldn't show up... he rarely does.

"Hey-" I greeted them, grabbing my guitar that I had left here before class and sat down on the couch.

George nodded to me and Paul asked, "How was class?"

My mind instantly when to Annabel, but if I told them about her it would lead to questions and comments that I don't know if I could respond to.

"Fine," I answered calmly, which he accepted and we started rehearsal, yet my thoughts remained on the passionate beauty I had met earlier today. I've never had this strong of a feeling, this _pull_, towards anyone before. I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

As could be predicted, my thoughts and effort wasn't in my playing. I was making the simplest, stupid mistakes and not coming in when I was supposed to sing. I was oblivious to my mate's frustration, laced with amusement. They knew that my mind was clearly on something else.

Sometime in the middle of rehearsal, Paul and George dropped out to restart a section, but I, lost in contemplation, kept on strumming in a languid, rhythmic haze.

"What's her name, John?" Paul prodded, jokingly, not realizing how on point he was.

Still wandering around in my head and without a thought of the question or who was asking I replied, "_Annabel._.."

George chuckled, "Who's this Annabel?"

I snapped back into reality, "I- uh, she..."

_What's wrong with me! I'm a stuttering mess. I'm not usually one to be at a loss for words._

_"_Ooooh, Johnny's got it bad,_" _Paul taunted with that smug look of his that tended to get me angry at him for no reason.

I felt my temper rising and bit back harshly, "Hardly! She's just some-" I couldn't continue. Annabel wasn't just _some_ girl, not to me. Every other woman in the world now was just another because of her. My irritation immediately dissipated with those tender thoughts of her.

"C'mon Lennon, spill," George goaded, "She must be pretty extraordinary to affect you this much."

"Well, I, um," I reached up to scratch my sideburn and cleared my throat, "I met her today. She's in me art class."

Paul looked at me with an incredulous expression, "Just _today! _And she's got you wilting into a gooey mess! Did you even talk to her?"

"Of course!" I retorted, glaring back at him. Then I recalled the conversation that we did have and almost wished I hadn't talked to her yet...

George stepped in to ease what might've developed into a bit of a spat, "Did you get her number or somethin? Ya gonna see her again?"

"Well, there's tomorrow in-"

Paul rolled his eyes, "besides class, John." I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth at his damn superior attitude.

George quickly turned around the topic, "What does this 'Annabel' look like?"

I felt my muscles relax as I pictured Annabel's face. She had this calming effect on me which I knew I needed desperately in my life.

"She's an angel..." I paused, searching for adequate words to describe her, "She's got the silkiest long, flowing hair the color of the darkest night... And it smells like vanilla-"

Paul sniggered at me, "You smelled her hair-"

"Shut it, Macca!"

"continue..." George calmly spoke, again acting as our mediator.

"She's got violet eyes unlike I've ever seen before that flash when she speaks- Her voice! She sounds like caramel tastes, sweet and smooth that lingers on your ears." I replayed our last interactions together in my head, her venomous words and her face inches from mine.

I spoke barely above a breath that I doubt they heard, "..her lips..."

"She sounds beautiful, John." George stated, bringing me out of my memory. He picked up his guitar again, signaling that he wanted to get back to practicing.

We picked up with rehearsal again. I made sure to focus a bit more to get some benefit from this session. We finished and George left. I was walking out the door and still was quite irritated at Paul when called out to me.

"Hey, John," I turned around, holding the door open and he continued with a cheeky grin and a wink, "Catch that bird."

Instantly, we were back to the closest of friends who could communicate with just a look. The tension and frustration forgiven and forgotten.

I returned his wink with a smirk and raised eyebrow, "Ya doubt I would?"

He laughed, "Just encouragement, John... just encouragement..."

I gave him a wave and started off towards home.

* * *

In bed that night, I stared at my ceiling, replaying the conversation between Annabel and me.

_I really messed up..._

I was gonna have to work hard to make her realize that I wasn't a completely heartless fool. She had me, whether she realized it or not. She made me feel like I was drowning and flying at the same time. I didn't want her, but, oh, did I need her.

I needed her desperately.

* * *

I got to the college the next morning quite early hoping to talk to Annabel before class. Time passed as I watched the students enter the building; I searched for one face in particular. It got later and later. I light up a cigarette and leaned against the building. I was a nervous wreck. Did I miss her? Was she even going to bother coming to class today?

Finally, I saw her gliding down the street towards the school. I shouted at her as she got closer and put out my cigarette.

"Annabel!"

She was as beautiful as I remembered, with the cool, fall air giving her cheeks a rosy hue.

But she ignored me and kept walking, heading up the stairs to enter the building. I ran up to her telling her to slow down and placed my hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off without a word. It was obvious that she was still upset.

I got in front of her, blocking her path, "I was hoping that we could move on from yesterday and start over..."

Her eyes flashed with anger briefly before settling into an icy glare.

"Fuck off, Lennon." She shoved past me.

I was stunned momentarily, then I turned around and caught up to her in the hallway, "Look I know what I said was undeserved, and... I just want to apologize."

I followed her into the room and sat next to her, continuing my pleading, "C'mon, you can't be that upset-"

She didn't even bother to look at me as she bitterly spoke once more, "Don't speak to me during class."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. She didn't want anything to do with me.

_Look what you did Lennon, _I berated myself, y_ou let your words get ahead of you and now you have to deal with the consequences._

I watched her off and on throughout the lecture. I felt lost. I realized that my words had really affected her and I just wanted to take it all back.

Class ended and she got up without a glance in my direction and started to leave. I needed to say something to get me on the right track. I reached out and gently touched the soft skin of her wrist and she looked back at me.

"I have a feeling that I've hurt you..." I spoke, my heart aching with the thought of her suffering at my words. Her face revealed no reaction as she turned around from me again and walked away. A sight now all too familiar to me.

I looked down at my feet and saw a crumpled up piece of paper. It must've fallen out of her bag when she yanked it on her shoulder.

I got up to bring it to her, but my curiosity got the best of me. I opened it up to see a sketch of a face. It was remarkable, the finesse and emotion in just a simple sketch! My guilt grabbed at me as I recalled my hurtful and insulting words from the previous day.

I looked down at the sketch again and gasped as I realized I was looking down at my own face.

_She drew me... She was thinking of me._

Hope fluttered within me; perhaps, I still had a chance. I folded the sketch carefully and put it into my pocket and left the building.

"I won't give up on you, Annabel," I whispered into the wind.

"I will never give up..."


	5. Chapter 5: Annabel

ANNABEL

I decided to take a detour on my walk home through the park nearby; I just needed some more time to think in the open air.

I don't know what I think about John now… At first he was rude, brash, and irritated me to the point of no end. But then today, he was sweet, apologetic, and made me feel... I don't know...

I sat on a bench to try and organize my thoughts. He said that he wanted to move on and start over. Did he really want to get to know me? And then, what did he see me as: a friend or just another pretty face. He wasn't that bad looking himself; the messy, unkempt appearance sort of suited him. He had warm brown eyes that twinkled when he gave that mischievous smirk of his. And that smirk did so many things to me that I wouldn't ever admit. He had a down-turned nose that fit his face perfectly and was uniquely him.

He was rather attractive, but you can't just trust an appealing exterior... I learned that the hard way...

I've only been in love once before, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.

_He was a friend of my family, a few years older than me. All the time growing up, everyone commented on how cute we were together and how adorable it would be if we became a couple when we got older. So, it was kind of inevitable that we did start dating._

_The first year and a half was perfect; __**he**__ was perfect, in every way. He was smart, well-to-do, charming, funny, and absolutely gorgeous. I was head over heels in love with this man. Near our two year anniversary, he proposed, and I said yes. ...that's when things changed._

_We decided to move in together; he already had his own place. His true colors revealed themselves to me during the next half a year of wedding planning. He was very jealous. Even though I had already promised to be with him __**forever**__, he constantly questioned me, glared down other men, and didn't like the thought of me anywhere if he wasn't with me. Then the fighting started. It began little and normal: innocent spats about annoyances or if I forgot to get or do something. Then they grew, and he seemed to get angrier and angrier. Fights became an everyday thing. Yelling became his only way of communicating with me, when not in public. His words became harsher and meaner. I felt like I just kept shrinking and shrinking._

**_But I still loved him._**

_One weekend I decided that I needed to get away, so I went back to my parent's house. They thought nothing of it, they were just glad to see me and help with the wedding. I returned home late that Sunday and he was there waiting when I walked through the door. I was wary of how he would receive me since I hadn't talked with him before I left. A huge, warm smile spread across his face as he ran up and took me in his arms. I giggled with happiness as he twirled me around. He set me down and passionately kissed me which I've missed and yearned for the past couple months. He held me close and began kissing down my neck._

_He whispering between kisses, "Annabel, oh how I've missed you... Annabel... Annabel... ...Darling, don't ever leave me... Never leave me again..."_

_I felt loved and treasured under his words and his touch. My heart ached with the love I had for him and I forgot all of the hurtful things that he had ever said. We made love that night, but this time, it was different. He was rough and controlling. His words were dark and possessive, even bordering on threatening. The next morning I had slight bruises on my wrists and hips._

**_But I still loved him._**

_A few days later, the yelling and fighting returned. I spent most of my days now rarely leaving the house, just trying to not do anything to incur his wrath. I stayed inside, sketching and drawing; art became my escape, my peace. One day I guess I had messed up somehow in his eyes, and the yelling started. I kept my eyes on the floor, waiting it out. Then he abruptly grabbed my jaw, roughly yanked it up to make eye contact, and kept a vice-like grip bringing tears to my eyes. _

_He shouted, spitting on my face, "LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!" _

_I cringed, and he threw me to the ground. I rubbed my stinging jaw gazing up at him, and he just turned away and left, slamming the door behind him. From then on, he began to get more physical when he got angry, but it was never too damaging. A rough grip of my arm. Tugging of my hair. Shoves and pushes._

**_But I still loved him._**

_Usually whenever he was particularly rough with me, within the next few hours or the next day, he would try and make up for it. He would return to the sweet and charming man that I loved so deeply. He would bring me gifts, compliment me, hold me and kiss me. I lived for those moments. I wanted to talk with someone about our relationship, about my conflicting feelings, and his conflicting moods. But no one would understand... He never acted like anything near this in public and my family loved him. He has already been like a son to them for years. So I had only myself and my art to express my thoughts and emotions to._

_It was only a month until our wedding, and things were still the same. One night he came home, already angry. I was in my little studio drawing and he burst in, proceeding to yell about his issues to me. I kept drawing, drowning out his negativity. Then he came up and grabbed my pencil out of my hand and threw it against the wall. He started shouting at me, calling me worthless, pathetic, and talentless. He then went to each of my pieces of art hanging on the walls, my only outlets from his fury, and belittled them and destroyed them. I cried out to him, begging for him to stop as he crumpled and ripped apart my drawings and my heart without mercy. I jumped on his back and wrapped my arms about his shoulders in an attempt to stop him and he threw me to the ground. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of me and I laid there gasping for breath. _

_He drew me up by my wrist and hissed through gritted teeth, "Don't you __**ever **__stand up to me and lash out like that again!" _

_He harshly shoved me against the wall and I fell to the floor with a thud. He left and I heard his car start and drive away. I was sobbing and heaving, staring at the remaining ruins of my life. My shoulder ached from hitting the wall and I'm sure it was bruising much like the deep purple and blue marks appearing along my wrist._

**_I don't love him._**

_I quickly ran about the house grabbing all I could fit into my small suitcase, some clothes and my sketchbook and art supplies. I left the house and went to the train station. I had to leave; I couldn't stay with anyone that I knew, because then __**he **__would always be near. I left. I left to start a new life far away from this one. I was going to save up money, get my own little house, and go to art school. I wouldn't make the same mistakes I had. I would guard my heart with my life. I would forget about him._

**_I could no longer love him._**

Silent tears streamed down my cheeks as I relived that past. I had been hurt… hurt badly, emotionally and physically. Meeting John had brought these memories back to me. His change of demeanor of the past two days was all too similar to the one that I longed to forget. I don't know how to proceed with John. I was wary of him because of my past. At the same time, I was scared. I was scared because though I knew from my mistake that I should stay away, I still wanted to be near him. I wanted to get to know him. I'm not sure if I want a romantic relationship, but I know I want a friend.

John's words replayed in my head, "_I have a feeling that I've hurt you…_"

"You haven't hurt me yet, John," I whispered into the wind.

"Not yet…"


End file.
